Resolution Two

Before I start writing about the 'topic of the month' for this post, I just wanted to make mention of a comment I received regarding my October post. Unless you are a logged in member of this blog, then you probably don't receive updates regarding comments, which normally isn't a real issue. In this case though, it's clear that I've disappointed a relative, and a reader with my words. I've already provided my thoughts in my reply, but the situation more generally-speaking, reminded me of how accountable our words become when they are written as opposed to verbal. I came across this very appropriate and encouraging piece of advice when it comes to writing:

'In order to write at all we must write on the basis of our present beliefs. If you are unwilling to write from the honest, though perhaps far from final, point of view that represents your present state, you may come to [the end of your life] with your contribution to the world still unmade and just as far from final conviction about the universe as you were at the age of twenty'.

There is something about the permanence of a written thought, that leads us to believe even the thought itself is permanent. The truth of the matter, as most of us are aware, is that nothing is permanent. I sometimes read old blog posts from my time in Leicester and cringe at my own writing, desperately wishing I could somehow take the words back and erase them from the minds of my readers. Clearly this is not possible. But when I read the above quote, I feel a sense of reassurance. My writing might never be perfect, but it comes from a place of truth and honesty in the moment it is written. When someone is struggling to think of the 'right' thing to say in a speech, the advice given is always the same: speak from the heart. The same is true of writing. I've never explicitly stated anywhere in my blog, that what I write comes from my heart, but this has always been the case.

When I was in grade 9, I took my very first and last physical education class. I hated gym. I was awful at sports, those long, baggy shorts hung from my waist like they would off a hanger, and worst of all, almost everything we did involved running. In fact come to think of it, aside from the terrible fashion, it wasn't really gym class that I hated. It was running. Three times in the year, once at the beginning, once in the middle, and once more at the end, we had to complete a 12 Minute Run. As the name suggests, we had to run for 12 minutes around the gym and were timed in order to gauge our abilities in relation to our personal best across the year but also in comparison to others. Not once out of those three attempts do I recall being able to run for 12 minutes straight without stopping to regain my breath.

For years I had convinced myself that I just wasn't a runner. I was one of those 'dancers' or yoga practitioners who was flexible and had good balance as opposed to someone who could run for ages without gasping for air. But then a couple of things happened last year which gave me pause. The first was a comment one of my family members made about how I always take the path of least resistance. It's been a bit of a running joke (no pun intended) in my family that when I want to do something, I always look for the way which requires the least effort. For instance, I was, am, and will always be terrible at math. So instead of choosing a degree in university which involved continuing math (like Business or Medicine), I went for Communications, knowing that I would avoid any and all encounters with mathematics (I should probably add that as convenient as it seems, I was genuinely interested in studying Communications, avoiding math was a bonus - look no further than the fact that I'm now doing a PhD for proof of this). Anyways, the point is that the joke is already out there so now whenever I do something that seems like a short cut (what I prefer to call being efficient), without fail, someone will take notice, and label it as being 'my way of doing things'.

Last year, I was in the car with my parents on the way to my cousin's home, and somehow the topic came up of 'things that bother us about each other'. Out of curiosity, I asked them 'what about me bugs you, that you complain about when I'm not around?' to which my father replied 'always finding the easy way out'. Ouch. It was one thing for this mentality of mine to be a family joke, but an entirely different thing to know that it is a possible character flaw. Usually, these kinds of comments don't tend to 'stick' with me for very long. But for some reason, I became obsessed with a) figuring out whether I truly do avoid challenges and b) proving otherwise by taking on more challenges. There began the development of my three new year's resolutions: goals that were only possible through 100% commitment and effort, goals that could not be made easier or simpler. I also wanted to cover a good range so that I could determine if I demonstrate a greater willingness to be challenged in some areas over others. I came up with three resolutions: spiritual, physical and creative (I figured mental/intellectual were covered with the PhD).

As you should all know by now, the spiritual goal was to attend a Vipassana retreat, which required a little push (from none other than my father) but was accomplished. However, the Vipassana was something I wanted to do for myself, so of course I was willing to put in the effort. The physical goal, I decided, had to be something I didn't like as much. And immediately, I knew the only thing it could be: to become a runner.

The second 'thing' that happened last year which pushed me into running was what I consider to be a resurgence in running culture. Everywhere I turn, I see people of all shapes and sizes running, at all hours of the day, in the city and in the suburbs. And suddenly, when I started talking about running, it turned out that most of my friends and acquaintances run too. For years, I've been surrounded by runners and had no idea about this secret society of high-stamina people. And they all talk about running as if it is a Godly experience which liberates them from the dull routine of their daily lives. At this point, I started to get a little excited about my resolution - 'Was it possible?' I asked myself, 'could I actually enjoy running?'.

After 11 months, I am happy to report that I am in fact, a runner. I can't run for very long - I start to break down at around 5 km, but I can easily run for 35 minutes to an hour without having to stop, and without feeling like my lungs are about to implode. And you know what else? I do love to run now. I completely understand what the runners are on about. It is such a liberating experience, to just run without any limits or controls, just put one foot in front of the other without worrying about anything else but that simple motion. You suddenly become in tune with this natural part of yourself that says ‘yes, this is what our bodies were designed for’. In many ways I wonder if I accidentally created two spiritual resolutions instead of one. Not only do I enjoy running, but I enjoy the challenge of running faster, or longer, or both! If I'm on a treadmill, I like to push myself each time to achieve a new personal best. I'm even looking forward to hopefully running in a 10K race or half-marathon next year if I have the time to train for one.

It’s kind of funny how people often think that you are at your athletic peak when you’re a teenager. When I think back to my grade 9 gym class, I am not struck by an image of a strong, athletic version of myself. Instead I think of a scrawny kid who lacked the motivation and confidence to push herself further. It’s not that I was physically incapable of running 12 minutes non-stop, the problem was that I gave up too easily. My mind had not reached its athletic peak. And after spending this past year developing my stamina and encouraging myself to run more, I’ve realized how powerful the mind can be at telling the body what it is capable of doing.

You might have come across a story in the news recently about a gentleman by the name of Fauja Singh. He is 100 years old and recently became the world’s oldest marathon runner. He started running at the age of 63, and ran his first marathon when he was 89. He is an inspiring reminder to all of us that you are never too old to start something new, and you should never give up on yourself or think that your athletic peak passed you sometime in your teenage years.

As for resolution three, and whether these resolutions have proven anything about my ability to take on challenges, it will have to wait for next month – I promise this story has an ending!

To be continued…